Something that's been circling...
The calliope plays a lilting tune
and dead horses chase in a never-ending circle.
Never getting anywhere at all, never
arriving or catching. No winner.
No loser. Just going around
and around and around.
Calliope rides the lead horse
weaving her voice to call to the masses.
Perhaps she's at the tail of the pack
calling them to stop cycling round and around;
to listen to her. But the music
persists calling all to join in the dance to nowhere.
Jump in, climb on. Like a bus.
Drop your token in, take up the chant.
Drown out the voice of reason--
It is more fun to join the crowd.
The calliope plays on and on:
no one notices the music is distorted.
The lights beam garish in neon night,
eyes glaze over, focused only on the prize.
Yet they don't see what is right in front of them:
the elusive brass ring has become tarnished.
It was never meant to be won when
it is always just beyond your ability to grasp.
Calliope slips from her majestic steed--
not that anyone will notice-- steps nimbly
outside the circle. Unseen, she dances
(she isn't the dizzy one) out back.
In the darkness, a hopeless tear falls
as she shuts down the power.
Watching, she sees that it was no longer
controlled by the plug. The electricity
generated by the crowd was more powerful.
It circled across the night, the countries, the world.
Shaking her head, Calliope lifted her arms
ascending once more to Olympus, then beyond.
She watches, a bright light in her constellation
circling through the galaxy. Below, the calliope
still going in endless circles, one voice then another
being the loudest. Her sisters murmur in the night,
repeating their mantra ... perhaps in time.
Will time continue to cycle? She ponders the dilemma.